


Hope

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 05:46:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16299266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Post Season 11, pregnancy fic kinda.





	Hope

She finally lets him in to the room. He’s been pacing up and down outside, banging on the door like Sheldon Cooper. Knock, knock, knock. Scully. Knock, knock, knock. Scully. Knock, knock, knock. Scully.

But he couldn’t see it until it was all perfect. Perfect.

This time has been different. He’s been there through the entire pregnancy. Fussing. Reading waaaay too much. But he’s been there. Involved. And despite her fears, her age, their mutual disbelief that lasted months, the time is nearly here. He’s been aiming for a shared birthday. She tells him the statistics are not on their side.

“Since when haven’t we defied the odds, Scully?”

She rests her hands on the crest of her stomach and holds her breath as he walks into the nursery. “What do you think?”

The decorators have done a great job. The border – stars and moons – runs around three walls. The fourth wall is taken up entirely by a painting, a forest of enchanted, glittering trees reaching into the open skies. In the distance is a lake, deep blue. If he looks closer later, he’ll see the curve of Big Blue’s back and Queequeg at the shoreline.

Hope, the artist called it.

“What do you think?” she says again.

He slips his hand into hers and presses his eyes with his finger and thumb. He’s crying and she shifts on her feet. When he lifts his head, they circle together so he can take it all in. The shelf of stuffed aliens and foxes, a Rubik’s cube, a photo of the Gunmen, a windmill in a snow globe. The small prints in a set of three showing the stages of a lunar eclipse. The wooden crib with the mobile hanging mid-point, stars and moons again.

“What colour did you choose for the walls?” he asks, voice still croaky.

She can’t believe he’s this emotional. And now she feels guilty. She looks at her swollen stomach. Feels the baby turn and chokes out a sound that’s a mix of a sob and a giggle. “Lemon Twist.”

The inside joke hangs between them a moment before his face splits into a wide grin and he throws his head back to laugh.


End file.
